


If You'd Been Loved

by sonoflight



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brainwashing, Drama, Drug Addiction, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, dave comes in a little later but he will become significant i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-12-26 04:08:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18275471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonoflight/pseuds/sonoflight
Summary: When Five jumps back in time with his family to save them from the apocalypse, it actually works. Until it doesn’t. Just as they make the jump, the Commission steps in and apprehends them. The Handler offers Five a deal: Come back to the Commission and finish his contract, or be responsible for his siblings’ deaths. With no other options, Five agrees, and the Handler tells him that his family will be spared.What Five doesn’t know is that the Commission is only keeping his family alive on the condition that they work as time agents. Now, the Hargreeves siblings are forced to use their powers to kill whoever the Commission tells them to. And if they don’t, there will be consequences.





	1. Prologue (Five)

**Author's Note:**

> Two Umbrella Academy fics at once? I must be going mad. Big thanks to [Ya_dun_goofed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ya_dun_goofed/pseuds/Ya_dun_goofed) and [jeremystollemyheart (ao3)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeremystollemyheart/pseuds/jeremystollemyheart) / [jeremystollemyheart (tumblr)](https://jeremystollemyheart.tumblr.com/)] for inspiring this work. We had a fantastic late-night conversation, and many details will be pulled straight from their ideas. For now, this is just a little teaser, but there’s much more to come--Enjoy!

Five looks around at his siblings, all clasping hands, faces open with poorly disguised terror as they’re engulfed by a blinding blue light. Their thoughts are plain to see—they don’t think this is going to work.

In another life, Five might’ve been pissed at their complete lack of faith in him and his powers, but in this one, he understands. If he was in one of their shoes, he can’t say for sure that he’d trust any of them to successfully make a spontaneous time jump to an undetermined time either, especially not with six people in tow.

The de-aging process begins almost immediately, even before Five is able to fully open the fabric of time. Everyone is growing smaller, younger, regressing until Five finds himself surrounded by his family from forty-five years ago. Well, in their minds, it was only sixteen years ago, but that’s beside the point. The point is, they’re all children again. Thank god, Five stays as he is.

He pushes with all his might against the stubborn boundaries of time. _Come on!_ he thinks to himself. _Focus!_ He’s stretching his powers as far as he can, but he’s hitting a wall, the fabric of space-time resistant to the sheer number of them. Even with a briefcase, it’s difficult to force more than two people through time, hence why the Commission only ever sends teams of two, max. Trying to time-jump seven people at once is unheard of, with or without a briefcase.

That doesn’t matter, though, because Five has nothing to lose. The scorching heat of the apocalypse is rolling in fast, and he pushes harder, and harder still. No matter what, no matter when they end up, he has to complete the jump. He can’t fail his family now. Not after everything he’s gone through to save them.

With one final drive, Five breaks through, time gives way, and they’re shooting back through time. It worked! Five laughs in exhilaration. He did it. They’re all going back in time, together as a family.

But something’s wrong. They’re slowing down. No no no. Five feels himself being ripped away from his siblings. He tries to hold on, but his grip on Diego’s and Allison’s hands is slipping. The last thing he sees before his siblings are torn away is Allison’s terrified face.

He tries to call out for them, or maybe catch up, but he’s lost all control of his body and of time. He tumbles through time alone for god knows how long, and then he’s pulled to a jarring halt, deposited unceremoniously on the floor. He scrambles to his feet.

Oh shit.

The Handler smiles at him, and for the first time, Five thinks she looks truly deranged. She still has the scars from when Five blew her up, and now there’s a small, perfectly circular mark on her forehead to match. At some point since Five last saw her a mere hour ago, she must’ve been shot. He wonders how long it’s been for her.

“Hello, Five,” she says, voice smooth. “Are you surprised to see me?”

“No, not really.” The Handler is nothing if not persistent, and Five had a feeling she’d show up sooner or later. He looks around in hopes of escape, but there’s nowhere to go. Of course. The Handler is far too smart for that. Looks like he’ll have to talk his way out of this one.

He heaves an audibly annoyed breath and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Where are we?” he asks. “And where’s my family?”

The Handler picks at an imaginary piece of lint on her skirt. “Your family is fine,” she says nonchalantly. “I just thought we needed to talk.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Five mutters, mostly to himself. Once more, he surveys his surroundings, but he can’t tell where she’s brought him. He assumes he’s at the Commission, though if this is a room at their usual headquarters, he’s never seen it before. The scarce furniture and blank walls offer no clues. He sighs. “Alright, what is it you want?”

Rather than answer immediately, the Handler checks her watch and lights herself a cigarette. She takes a careful drag, exhales, and smiles as she speaks. “What I want, Five, is for you to finish your time with the Commission. If you’ll recall, you broke your contract—twice, actually.”

Five takes a steadying breath, so as to not lose his temper. He must stay cool and pragmatic if he wants a chance at negotiating with the Handler. “I think I’ve made myself clear already, but in case I haven’t, let me reiterate. I’m done with the Commission. I’m not your pawn anymore.”

“Pity,” the Handler says. She reaches out to Five and runs one perfectly manicured finger under his chin. “Such a waste of talent. And such a waste of six other perfectly nice superhumans…”

That stops Five cold. She can’t possibly mean what he thinks she means. “What the hell did you do to my family?” he demands. His voice wavers, and The Handler smirks. She’s got him and she knows it.

“Nothing,” she answers. “Yet.” She takes another drag of her cigarette. “Now, back to the subject at hand. Will you come back to the Commission or not?”

“You’re not really giving me an option, now are you?” Five says. Whatever game the Handler is playing, there’s no way for Five to come out on top.

“Of course I’m giving you an option.”

Five squints at her. “No, I think you’re blackmailing me,” he says. “You want me to choose between my freedom and my family.”

“Your words, not mine,” the Handler says, though she’s knows as well as Five that her implications are clear and that if he refuses her, she will follow through on her threats. She checks her watch. “Now, I’m open to negotiation, but as you appear to have made your decision—”

“If I come back to the Commission, will you let my family go?” Five fixes his stare on the Handler. It’s the hardest thing he’s ever done, but he makes his voice steely and his face emotionless. In reality, he’s terrified that she’ll say no and kill them whether he agrees to return or not, but he can’t let that show, can’t let her see any weakness.

The Handler seems to consider this for a moment. “Fine,” she says. “We’ll spare your family.” She holds out her hand, stiff and unnatural as usual. “Do we have a deal?”

There’s nothing else he can do but step forward and shake her hand. “Yes,” he says. “We do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always appreciated, and you can catch me on tumblr [@lastoftherealblues](http://lastoftherealblues.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Klaus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!!! Sorry this took so long, I've been quite busy! This chapter is from Klaus' POV and I'll continue to indicate who's POV by chapter title. Content warning for strong language, particularly a couple of anti-Vietnamese slurs that Klaus throws around. I do not condone that type of language. Enjoy!

“Ah, shit!” Klaus lies stunned, staring up at a high ceiling. Did it work? The sweltering heat from before is gone, which means they’re at least safe from the apocalypse, and they’ve definitely time travelled to somewhere. He’d know this pounding migraine and feeling of wanting to crawl out of his skin anywhere. With shaking hands, he touches his own face and is relieved to feel coarse stubble under his fingers instead of the soft cheeks of a thirteen-year-old. Not that Five isn’t great and all, but Klaus would hate to share his fate.

He sits up slowly, wincing at the pain in his neck. It shoots down his spine and through his legs, but he can move and nothing feels broken. It still hurts like a bitch, though. He must’ve taken a serious tumble when they landed wherever it is that Five’s brought them.

Speaking of which… “Ben?” Klaus calls. “Diego? Allison? Five? Vanya? Luther?” His voice echoes off the walls.

He hears a single answering groan and turns around to see a form huddled just a few feet away from him, clad in dark jeans and a hoodie. Ben. He crawls over and shakes his brother’s shoulder. Barely registering that he’s able to touch him.

“Ben,” he hisses. “Ben, wake up.” He glances around, worried that someone will come in and find him alone with a collapsed, unconscious man. Or worse, that they’ll find him talking to thin air. That’ll be a hard one to explain. He shakes Ben harder. “C’mon, man, wake up.”

Relief floods his veins when Ben groans louder and rolls over onto his back. He squints at Klaus and then at the rest of his surroundings. “Shit,” he mutters. “Where are we?”

“No idea,” Klaus says. He sits back on his feet and scratches his head absently. “Looks like it could be someone’s house or something, but I dunno, I don’t recognize anything.” A sense of unease is starting to nag at him, like this place might be more dangerous than it looks, and he has a gut feeling that they need to get moving before someone finds them. “Can you stand? We need to find the others.”

Ben is silent for another moment, obviously not as used to time-travel as Klaus, but eventually he nods and starts the slow process of dragging himself upright. He and Klaus end up half-supporting each other as they get to their feet. Even once they’re standing, the blood is still rushing from Klaus’ head, causing the room to spin. He grips Ben’s shoulders hard to keep from toppling over again, and he can feel Ben doing the same to him.

Once his head clears, he takes a moment to look around and really take in their surroundings. The room is strange—cavernous and disturbingly empty, save for the rather tasteless décor: spiraling up the white walls are framed photographs of countless historic tragedies, from sinking ships to assassination. They’re so numerous that they reach all the way from the ground almost to the golden dome several stories above. An odd choice of decoration to be sure. Odder still, each photo is accompanied by a smaller picture of a person, or two people. Some of these people are grinning maniacally, some are scowling, and some look absolutely and coldly indifferent. All are frightening.

“Christ, where the hell are we?” Klaus asks aloud, echoing Ben’s sentiment from before. “This place is creepy.”

Ben nods. “No kidding.”

Klaus lets go of Ben and circles the room. There’s no door at this level, but there is a spiral staircase carved out of the walls that leads to a sort of balcony about halfway up to the ceiling. The balcony traces in a semi-circle until, at the very end, it comes to a panel that could very well be a door and their ticket out of this place. Klaus goes to the base of the stairs and takes in the significant climb they have ahead of them.

“Hey, Klaus?” he hears.

He turns back to Ben. “Yeah?”

“I think I’m alive again.” Ben is staring at his hands just like he had after punching Klaus in the mouth. He reaches out and presses his palm to the wall. Klaus stares. He isn’t clipping though it at all.

“How—? I didn’t regress at all.” Klaus frowns. “Are you sure I’m not just conjuring you?” Sure, he and Ben have been able to touch each other here, but after unlocking a whole new side of his powers, Klaus had just assumed that’s what was happening.

“No, I think this is the real deal,” Ben answers. “I can tell. Trust me, I know what dead feels like, and I know what alive feels like. This is alive.”

Klaus can’t believe it. Now he really has to find Five and give him a great big smooch on his adorable little cheeks because this is incredible. Who knew that going back in time would bring Ben back to life?

“We’ve gotta find the others and tell them,” Klaus says. “Come on!” He waits for Ben to join him, and then he leads the way up the stairs. “I wonder what made you come back,” he says over his shoulder. “You’d think that would’ve only happened if we went back to a time when you were alive, which should’ve made me younger, right?”

“Yeah, good question,” Ben answers. “Maybe Five can tell us, wherever he is. Hopefully that’s not too far from here, and hopefully everyone else is nearby too. I’m guessing we all just got thrown into slightly different places when we landed, but we should be in the same time.”

Klaus nods. He still doesn’t fully understand time-travel, but Ben’s theory sounds reasonable. It’s entirely possible that the force of the landing broke them apart and dumped them around the same general area. He tries to remember the jump, thinking some clues have to be there. His memory is fuzzy, but little pieces are stitching themselves together.

Vanya. The moon. Five’s pleas for them to trust him. They’d linked hands in a circle so no one got left behind on accident, and Ben had kept his hand on Klaus’ shoulder since no one else could touch him. They hadn’t jumped immediately. It had taken a few minutes, as if Five was having trouble getting his powers to work for all of them.

While Five was trying to make the jump, everyone had started looking younger, reverting to their thirteen-year-old bodies. And then—nothing. Whatever happened next, Klaus can’t remember it. He supposes that’s when the jump must’ve happened.

His previous two jumps were much the same, so it makes sense. He can always remember the moments leading up to the jump and everything immediately after landing, but never the jump itself. Maybe whatever his body undergoes physically during a jump prevents that. Or maybe it takes training to remember a jump. Either way, Klaus is unable to come up with the cause of the siblings’ separation.

He comes to the top of the stairs and looks down. Jesus, it looks a lot higher from up here. The thin iron railing doesn’t seem like nearly enough.

Ben appears to be having similar thoughts. He’s pressed up as close to the wall as he can get, eyes wide. Klaus realizes that for the first time in years, a fall from this height could be disastrous for his brother. The sudden mortality must be terrifying.

“You okay?” Klaus asks.

Ben gives a stiff nod. “Yeah. Just not a fan of heights.”

Klaus can relate, kind of. He’d had to parachute exactly twice during his time in Vietnam, and both times he’d been scared shitless. If he hadn’t had Dave there by his side, to whisper words of comfort in his ear and surreptitiously kiss his cheek before making the jump first, he’d have never gotten through.

“Let’s just get to the door,” he says. “Might be better outside.” With Ben right behind him, he edges along toward the door on the opposite side of the room. There’s not a sound other than their breathing and the shuffle of their shoes over smooth marble. Klaus is really starting to regret agreeing to wear the bowling shoes—the soles have zero traction, which makes every step precarious. His converse would’ve been better, but those got left behind when those weird gas-masked shooters forced them to flee the bowling alley.

By the time they reach the door, they’re both sweating from anxiety—Klaus cannot get his hand on the doorknob fast enough. “Dammit!” He punches the door in frustration. “It’s locked.” He leans heavily against the wall. They’re stuck, and he has no idea how to get out.

“Can you—” Ben’s voice is shaky, and he takes a deep breath. “Can you tell what the door is made of?”

“Solid wood,” Klaus mutters. “No way I’m gonna be able to kick through it. Especially not on this stupid ledge.”

“I might be able to help,” Ben says. For a moment Klaus doesn’t understand, but then the look on Ben’s face tells him everything he needs to know.

“You don’t mean—”

“Yeah,” Ben says through gritted teeth. “I do.”

“But I thought it was painful.” Klaus rubs his own stomach in idle sympathy.

“Dammit, Klaus, of course it’s painful, but do you have a better idea?” Ben snaps. “Because if so, I’d love to hear it.”

Klaus is silent. He wishes there was another way to get out, but neither of them are strong enough to get the door to budge, and unfortunately, he hadn’t thought to pack any bobby pins or paper clips before Vanya decided to bring their house down around them.

“Alright,” he says. “Here, we’ll switch places.”

Very carefully, Klaus scoots to the edge of the shelf, gripping the railing behind him until his knuckles turn white. He and Ben maneuver past each other so that it’s Ben who’s closest to the door, and Klaus moves to get back against the wall.

With trembling hands, Ben lifts up the edge of his hoodie and shirt, leaving his stomach exposed. “You might want to look away,” he tells Klaus, and Klaus does. He’s never watched what happens to Ben’s body when he lets the monsters out, and he’s not about to start now. It’s not that he’s too freaked out by it because at this point, not much phases him, but it feels a lot like invading Ben’s privacy. Bad enough that Dad called him the Horror and made a spectacle out of his powers—he doesn’t need Klaus to do that to him too.

Klaus can still hear everything though. The sickening sounds of flesh and bone warping as the tentacles burst free, the splintering of wood, Ben’s moans of pain that he can’t quite muffle into his own hoodie. If there’d been any other way to get out of here, Klaus would’ve taken it in a heartbeat, rather than have to stand by while Ben uses the powers that killed him the first time around. He repeats to himself that they had no choice.

Then just like that, the sounds stop.

When Klaus looks over at Ben, he’s smoothing out the front of his clothes as if he hadn’t just opened an interdimensional portal in his torso and as if there aren’t still tears in his eyes from how bad it hurts him to do it. Behind him, the door is in splinters, opening into what looks to be an off-branching corridor.

Klaus knocks Ben’s shoulder lightly and beams. “Nice work, man. You okay?”

After wiping his eyes on his sleeve, Ben nods. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Let’s just keep going.” Without another word, he turns and steps through the ruined doorway, and Klaus is left with no choice but to follow.

“Oh, wow,” he breathes. He steps forward to Ben’s side and takes in the long corridor stretched out before him. “This is impressive. I’m starting to think our little Number Five might have some serious connections. Assuming we’re supposed to be here.”

The walls of the corridor in question are a deep blue in color, the floor the same pearly marble as in the hall behind Klaus and Ben. At regular intervals down the corridor, ornate silver sconces hold dim, old-fashioned looking lightbulbs that cast a soft glow over the whole scene.

“So whose house do you think this is anyway?” Ben asks. He walks a few paces down the corridor, his head turning in all directions. “You don’t think it could be Five’s, do you?”

Klaus scoffs. “No way, that’s just crazy. You’d think that if Five had himself a mansion, he’d have told us already. I bet it’s some kind of safehouse for that company he mentioned. Y’know, the ones who rescued him from the apocalypse.”

“Huh. Could be.” Ben is staring down the corridor and the yawning darkness it fades into with a furrowed brow, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Klaus knows that look, and he knows better than to interrupt Ben while he’s deep in thought like this, so he picks at the wallpaper in silence. After a moment, Ben turns back to him. “You feel like there’s something off about this place too, right? It’s not just me?”

“You’re just now noticing?” Klaus jokes, chuckling a little. But Ben doesn’t laugh back, and Klaus sobers up fast. “Yeah.” He brushes a thumb over the polished silver of the sconce closest to him and comes away with a thin film of dust. “Yeah, I feel it too.”

Truth be told, he’d felt the weird energy since the moment he crashed into—well, whatever that creepy hall of portraits behind him is. Everything is too big, too empty, as if some kind of hallowed ground where Klaus and Ben shouldn’t be. By now, they should’ve found something—anything—to hint at the presence of others. Even a scratch on the lock would’ve been nice. But the place is entirely uninhabited, pristine and dead, save for the two brothers and the destroyed door.

“C’mon,” Ben says. “Let’s keep going. The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”

Klaus could not agree more. Now that Ben’s made it clear that he’s as skeeved out as Klaus is, Klaus can’t stop noticing everything wrong with their situation. For starts—where are the others? Okay, so he’s aware that he’s basically forgettable, but after losing both Mom and Pogo, Diego, at the very least, will be counting heads.

There’s also the whole disaster-photographs-situation that has Klaus’ skin crawling just thinking about it. Why would someone make a shrine to all of history’s worst moments in the first place? And why put it behind a heavy locked door at the end of a dusty corridor that looks like it hasn’t been walked in years?

Not to mention, there isn’t an end to the corridor in sight. They do start to come across some corners to turn, but other than that, nothing changes.

As they walk along, there’s no sound other than their shoes on the marble floor, which, Klaus notes, is also rather disturbing. Corridors should have doors with people talking on the other side, or something like that. It isn’t natural for a passage to go on this long without so much as a seam in the wallpaper.

A few twists and turns later, and Klaus has totally lost his sense of orientation. He couldn’t have said if the hall was behind him or to his left if his life depended on it. One glance at Ben is all it takes to know that they’re in the same boat. Klaus stops Ben with a hand.

“How long’ve we been walking for, do you think?”

“Dunno.”

“But we should’ve run into someone by now, right?”

Ben’s silence is answer enough for Klaus because Ben is only ever this reticent with his thoughts when he’s upset and trying desperately to not show it. His poker face is infinitely more impressive than his voice control.

“Right.”

They keep going, though, unease be damned because what else is to be done? Their only alternatives are to either to turn back or stay put, and wait for the others to come to them. Neither of those are ideal.

Klaus is just starting to wonder if the corridor will ever end or if they’re stuck in some kind of infinite loop, when they turn a corner and bam, there’s a door right in their faces, stark white against the walls.

Once upon a time in another life, he might’ve reached for the knob and thrown the door open without a second thought, but ten months and a hundred flag-bombs, and now he knows better. After everything else, this is too easy to be anything but a trap. It’d be a shame to have escaped the apocalypse and brought Ben back only to get them both blown to bits by a booby-trapped doorknob.

Ben, however, doesn’t seem to have such sensibilities, and before Klaus can stop him, he’s stepped forward and twisted the handle. With an alarmed cry, Klaus grabs Ben’s hood and yanks him out of harm’s way, throwing them both to the ground and shielding his brother with his own body as he waits with eyes squeezed shut for the explosion that will surely kill him, but not Ben if he has anything to say about it.

But nothing happens.

Ben wrestles free of Klaus’ death grip and scrambles to his feet. “What the hell, man?” he splutters. “Are you out of your mind?”

“I—” Klaus slowly uncurls from his fetal position on the floor and looks up into Ben’s face. What he sees there confuses him—the anger rippling underneath the incredulity. Doesn’t he know what Klaus just did for him? “I was saving you,” he says, and he hates how small he sounds.

“Oh, well thank you then,” Ben drawls, sarcastic. “I really needed saving from the big scary door.”

Klaus’ lip starts to tremble, and he blinks away furious tears. How can Ben be so angry with him for this? When for once in his life, he hadn’t messed up beyond reparation. When this time, he’d saved him.

The soldier in him wants to stand up tall and tower over Ben, get up in his stupid face and fight back and scream how fucking grateful he should be that Klaus would use his own body—that he would sacrifice himself—to save Ben’s sorry, greenie ass. But Klaus isn’t a soldier anymore, and the realization punches the breath right out of his chest because that’s the whole problem here, isn’t it?

So he doesn’t shout or threaten Ben. He stays right there on the ground and buries his face in his hands and cries.

“Ah shit.” Ben’s arms come around him, warm and solid, and Klaus leans into his little brother’s chest and clings like both their lives depend on it. “Klaus, I’m sorry, that was mean of me. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I just. I saw so many men get blown up,” Klaus sobs. “Other soldiers. Friends of mine. One moment people grabbing flags, the next a mess of guts in my face. All those—those damn Charlies and their damn traps and not a thing I could do to save anyone.”

He points a shaky finger at the door hanging slightly ajar. “A lot of them looked like that. Abandoned Charlie camps rigged to blow if you so much as touched a hooch. So when—when you went for the handle—well, what if it’d been rigged up? If I hadn’t pulled you down, you’d be dead. Again.”

More sobs wrack his body because oh god, he can’t lose Ben again, he can’t. Can’t stand to hold his body lying cold and still. Can’t stand to go back to being able to see him and talk to him but unable to touch him.

So he cries. He cries and cries until his body can’t keep up anymore and he’s left with nothing but burning eyes and ragged, heaving breaths that don’t fill his lungs.

Ben’s hand strokes through his hair as he rocks him and murmurs comforting words. “Klaus, it’s okay, we’re okay. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Klaus shakes his head and pulls away, struggling to reign himself in. “No, I’m sorry.” He sniffles and looks down at his lap. “It’s this place, y’know? It’s messing with my head.

“I know,” Ben agrees. “Me too. I have a good feeling that we’re almost out, though.” He stares intently at the door. “But we have to go through the door.”

Klaus swallows around the spike of panic that he knows is absolutely irrational and nods. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Okay.”

Once more, they support each other as they stand, but this time, Klaus doesn’t let go. He grips Ben’s arm out of fear—partly of the door and partly of losing Ben if he’s not touching him—and together, they approach the door.

A breathy giggle of relief escapes Klaus’ mouth when the door opens up to a normal room. He and Ben cross the threshold cautiously, but still, nothing happens.

By all accounts, it looks like a normal foyer to a normal house—even more normal than the foyer at home, if not a little on the drab side. The walls and the staircase are the same white marble that the portrait hall, and the stairs even have a very similar railing.

This room, though, has doors—lots of them. There’s one under the stairs, as well as several others around the first floor, and a few more visible on the second landing. Klaus would guess there are more further down the second floor, past where he can see. Over the stairs are a set of tall windows, through which the moon is shining through.

“Looks like a bank,” Ben says with serious distaste in his voice.

“Yeah…” Klaus releases his hold on Ben’s arm and steps into the center of the room. He spins around in a slow circle, craning his neck to take it all in.  “We should see if the others are around here.”

And then everything goes to shit.

Every single door bursts open at the same time, and a hundred of those figures in gas-masks swarm the room. They descend on Klaus like hornets, obscuring his view of Ben. There’s shouting and hands shoving him onto his knees and twisting his arms behind his back.

He thrashes and kicks, but more dark forms surround him, force him down. The butt of a gun cracks against his skull, tearing a cry from him. One, two, three kicks to his ribs have him doubled over and moaning weakly.

“Enough.” The cold voice brings silence. “We need him alive and uninjured if he’s to be useful to us.”

The crowd parts, and a woman strides forward. Her pale skin and white-blonde hair glow under the light of the moon. Aside from her cherry red pumps, she’s clad entirely in black—from her A-line swing dress to her pillbox hat with its birdcage veil. She stares down at Klaus with calculating eyes.

“So which one might you be?” she asks, but underneath that faux-polite tone, she doesn’t sound in the least bit curious. “Luther? Diego?”

Klaus’ heart pounds wildly. Who is this woman? What the hell is she talking about? How does she know about Luther and Diego?

“Not very chatty, are you?” The woman tuts and checks her watch. “No matter, we’ll get it out of you one way or another.”

She turns her back and starts to walk away, and Klaus can see Ben in the same position as he is, with a gun pointed at his head. He meets Klaus’ eyes, his own wide with fear, and nonono, Klaus can’t let her get to him.

“My name is Klaus,” he calls, and he forces down a triumphant grin when she spins back around to re-approach him. Ben’s despairing look doesn’t even matter because at least for a few more seconds, this woman’s attention is on the less valuable of the two.

“Oh, I’ve heard about you too,” she says. “I must say, I’m rather disappointed. Though Five did mention that you… lacked certain qualities of your brothers. Still, I thought you’d put up more of a fight. But don’t worry,” She lights a cigarette and takes a careful drag, and when she exhales, she fixes a cruel smile on him. “We can still fix you.”

Klaus knows she meant to insult him and make him lose his cool, but those words barely break through the icy realization that they’ve been sold out by Five. By their own brother, in whose hands they’d placed their trust, their lives. And the rage at what Five has done sets Klaus’ blood boiling. That little prick and his promises to save them, uttered in the same breath as cold betrayal.

The Handler tilts her head condescendingly. “Nothing to say?” Klaus doesn’t give her the satisfaction of an answer, but he does spit on her perfect, pretty shoes. The most minute twitch of an eye is the only reaction she gives, and the disgust in her voice when she nods to the people holding him and says, “Take him away.”

“No!” Klaus yells, renewing his efforts to break free. “Get your hands off me, you bastards! Let me go! Ben! Ben, help!”

He kicks and bites and strains for all he’s worth, but no matter how hard he fights and how many figures he sends down holding their jaws, there are more waiting to take hold of him. It’s a losing battle that he can’t stop fighting because Vietnam taught him a lot of things, but surrender wasn’t one of them.

Then an arm hooks around his throat and squeezes so hard that he blacks out for a second, and he knows it’s over. He can’t even claw at the arm because his own arms are still being securely held behind his back. His vision goes spotty as he sputters and gasps for air. The strength drains from his limbs until he can’t struggle anymore.

With a final despairing whimper, he goes limp, helpless to do anything but watch as his assailants drag him backward. Out of the building. Away from Ben.

The last thing he sees before the front door slams shut is the woman standing over Ben’s crumpled body as more of the masked attackers stoop to grab him.

“Ben…” he groans.

Then something hard crashes against his head, and everything goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, I must emphasize that I do not agree with Klaus' language. I am Vietnamese-American words like that can be very hurtful, so please please please, never say them to anyone. Anyway, rant aside, comments are loved and cherished, and you can catch me on tumblr [@lastoftherealblues](http://lastoftherealblues.tumblr.com/)!


	3. Luther

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Sorry this one took so long, I've had a lot on my plate the last couple of weeks. I've never written from Luther's POV either, so I had to sort myself out on that a bit. And I know we like to rag on him, but his perspective is as essential here as everyone else's. Anyway, this one covers what happens to him when he lands. Enjoy!

The last thing Luther remembers is Five yelling something about the jump getting messy, right before zapping them out of the Icarus Theater; everything after that is like a dream. He can almost catch some flashes of the jump, but the images keep leaping out of his grasp whenever he tries to latch on to one of them. After several minutes of this with no fruitful results, he gives up and instead turns his attention to the present task of figuring out what the hell is going on. Five hadn’t bothered to tell them exactly where he was taking them, but that’s not important. Luther can figure it out himself.

He starts with the basics: location. Well, it would be basics if he had more to go on. Too bad Five had to dump him in the middle of nowhere. Prick. At any rate, he knows some things. Like the fact that he’s lying flat on his back and staring up at the sky, surrounded on all sides by tall grass and wildflowers. The plants appear to be flourishing, a gentle aroma of flowers wafting through the air.

He sits up and leans forward, taking hold of a blade of grass and examining it. He can’t see any insects to clue him into specifics, but he’s fairly certain this is switchgrass. Which still doesn’t tell him much at all, except that this is a warm area, and that’s something he could’ve figured out on his own. Taking into account his heavy clothes and elevated body temp from the fiasco surrounding the apocalypse, he’d put the temperature in the mid 70s.

Based on the lighting, he’d guess it’s late afternoon or early evening, and well, that’s one thing working in his favor. He should have plenty of time to gather his siblings before it gets dark; then, when the sun fully sets, he’ll be able to use the constellations to help orient himself and guide his family to safety. So at least there’s that.

With a grunt, Luther heaves himself to his feet, and almost immediately loses his lunch. Evidently, not even space travel could prepare him for the effects of time travel, despite their apparent similarities. No time to dwell on the mechanics of it all, though. He spits out the sour taste in his mouth and straightens, ready to get to work doing what they have to.

The first order of business, now that he’s gotten his footing, is finding his family. He turns slowly in the center of the bright green field, scanning for any sign of them. Maybe a flash of clothing, or a gleam of metal, or an anomaly in the landscape where a body might’ve fallen.

“Guys?” he calls, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Is everyone okay?” His own voice bouncing off the surrounding trees is all he hears. Concerned that everyone else might be seriously injured or otherwise unable to respond, he begins a methodical search of the field, eyeballing a spiral path with his current location as the epicenter.

He calls out for each of his siblings repeatedly as he goes, growing more frantic with every cycle through his family’s names. It’s fast becoming clear that he’s alone in the field, and this fear is confirmed as he finishes his final loop around the field’s perimeter without having found so much as a dropped shoe.

The person he’s most worried about, ironically, is Vanya. Vanya, who almost killed Allison and did kill Pogo. Vanya, who destroyed the Umbrella Academy. Vanya, who caused the apocalypse. She’s all of those things. But she’s also Vanya, his little sister, whom he had cradled in his arms when they decided to take her back with them. And he doesn’t remember letting go of her.

Everyone else’s absences he can explain. There’s no telling how far apart they could’ve been flung if just one link in the circle had been broken. Luther’s no expert on time travel, but Five had left behind pages and pages of notes before vanishing. From what Luther could glean from those notes, it sounds as if jumping multiple parties through time is a dangerous game that can be disastrous if not executed perfectly, and one broken link might cause a reaction similar to the butterfly effect.

So maybe Klaus had let go of Diego to scratch his nose or something. That sounds like something that could’ve happened. Or maybe Diego’s hand slipped out of Five’s. There’s no telling whose fault it was, only that something went wrong.

Regardless of the reason, Luther has a bad feeling about them all being separated. As much as they all hate to admit it, they do tend to be most effective as a team, and that’s reliant on them all being in the same place. Unfortunately, that’s not currently looking like they’re anywhere near each other. In fact, there’s no guarantee that they’ve even landed in the same time or not, which is a whole other situation that Luther’s not sure he’s equipped to handle.

He shakes off his own insecurities about his ability to lead. He was born to do this, and his family is depending on him. No time for what-ifs.

The next logical step is to search the woods. Seems simple enough, except for one small problem: Luther has no idea how large of an area he’s looking at. It could be as a little as a single acre, or it could be miles and miles of dense trees and thick underbrush. He decides he would rather lose his way trying to find his family than stand here safe when they could be in danger, so after only a moment’s hesitation, he plunges into the thicket.

He searches for what must be hours. It’s not so bad at first, as evening sets in. The temperature remains pleasant, and there’s enough moonlight peaking through the trees for Luther to see his way and avoid any hazards. There don’t seem to be any dangerous animals out either, only a few herds of deer that take off running almost as soon as Luther catches sight of them and the occasional opossum scampering through the trees.

But the seconds tick by, and Luther’s mood drops by increments until he’s in a thoroughly sour mood laced with no small amount of anxiety. He’s tired and hungry, and there’s no trace of any of his siblings. He also has no clue how to get out of these woods, so add lost to his list of frustrations.

There’s a distinct possibility that he’s alone here and he’ll never get back to his family. It’s a terrifying prospect. He’ll grow old and grey, and every day he’ll wonder what happened to his family, how they’re faring wherever they are.

No.

There’s no sense in letting his thoughts drift to what is quite literally the worst case scenario. He’s going to reunite his family. It’s nonnegotiable.

With that refreshed mindset, he presses on, shouldering his way through the brush. At least he knows he’s not going in circles. His size doesn’t exactly allow him to move stealthily, and he’s well aware of the trail of broken branches and trampled undergrowth that he’s left in his wake.

The cruel voice of criticism in his head berates him for carelessness on this mission. He beats it down into silence. Yes, this is a mission, but it’s not one of Dad’s missions that require him to be perfect and calculating at every turn. He can stomp his way around these woods all he wants, and it may even work to his benefit. If any of his siblings are also wandering the forest, they’ll have no problem finding him. In a way, that’s comforting.

It’s not enough to calm his nerves, though. He won’t be able to achieve that until every single one of his siblings is safe and under his protection. The need to see them all together and in one piece drives him through the night, right to the edge of the woods.

It comes up suddenly, with no warning that the dense trees will cut off cleanly to a large stretch of land. Just one step, and the trees end, opening up to the rest of the world. A dusty old road runs across Luther’s path, disappearing toward the horizon on either side. In the distance, Luther thinks he can see a set of buildings in the distance.

He tenses at the sound of an approaching engine, shrinking back into the shadows and ducking down. This is all so weird, and since he still doesn’t know anything about where he is, it’s best to stay out of sight and draw as little attention as possible. From his position crouched behind a large log, he watches a black car roll across his field of vision. It nearly drives all the past him, but then it stops and the engine cuts out.

He squints and raises his head a little to get a better look. The first thing he sees is the flash of a bright red set of high heels as their owner steps from the vehicle. He recoils back to his hiding spot as the top of her hat appears over the open door. His heart pounds. The sound of deliberate footsteps over gravel sets his teeth on edge.

“Luther Hargreeves?” an unfamiliar voice calls. “Is that you out there?”

Luther tenses. How does she know his name? That has to be a bad sign.

“There’s no point in trying to hide. You’ve left quite the obvious little trail.” Shit, maybe he should’ve been more careful. The voice is moving back and forth as if the woman is pacing, stalking her prey. “Come on, Luther. You don’t have to be afraid. I’m here to help you.”

Luther doesn’t believe her in the slightest. There’s something about the way she talks and every word that comes out of her mouth. It’s too cold and inhuman and sounds almost scripted. It’s sickly sweet too, covering up some venom lurking just beneath the surface.

“You can’t hide in there forever,” the woman continues. “You’ll need food and water sometime—soon, I’d imagine, if your… larger physique is any indication.” A pause. “If it make you feel any better, your brother Five sent me to retrieve you.”

Luther’s breath catches. She’s with Five? Well then. Perhaps he misjudged her. He still doesn’t move, though, waiting to see what else she says.

“I know you must be wondering how you can trust me, and I understand. Your training prevents you from taking hasty action. But Five personally entrusted me with your collection. We have the rest of your siblings already, and they’re looking for you. You’ve been lost for hours, and one of your siblings said that it’s not like you to abandon everyone. What was her name… Allison? Yes, I think that’s right. Allison begged me to bring you back safe.”

Allison. If she trusted this woman enough to ask her to look for him, Luther knows he can trust her too. Cautiously, he stands and steps to the edge of the trees. The woman waiting for him smiles brightly.

“Hello, Luther. How are you?” She holds out a hand, which, after hesitating slightly, Luther steps forward and shakes. “I’m known as the Handler,” she introduces. “They call me that because… well, because I handle things. Such as your safe return to your family.”

Luther takes in the sight of the Handler. For lack of better words, he thinks she looks like she’s going to a funeral, with the exception of the red shoes. She certainly doesn’t look the type to be tracking down missing siblings from their mismatched family, but hey, who is he to jump to conclusions? Indeed, his first impression had been way off the mark.

“You said my family is safe?” he asks. He keeps his eyes trained on the Handler’s, in case she’s lying to him.

“They are all back at headquarters,” the Handler confirms. She gives him an almost patronizing smile and pats his arm. “Shall we?”

Without waiting for Luther’s answer, she turns sharply and returns to the car. It’s difficult to shake his unease, but Luther follows, telling himself that the weird vibes he’s getting from the Handler are just that. If she wanted to kill him, she would’ve probably done it by now, and if she wanted to capture him, she’d have brought backup. She’s letting him come of his own free will. Plus, she’s already established that she has at least two of the other Hargreeves’ trust, and Luther trusts his family.

Of course, Vanya had trusted Harold Jenkins, and he’d seemed far more harmless than the Handler. The one time Luther had encountered him, he’d come across like the most normal guy in the world, but he’d ultimately been largely responsible for the apocalypse.

So maybe Luther has good reason to be suspicious of this woman, even as he ducks through the car door she holds open for him. But maybe not. The thing is, Luther trusts Five’s judgement of people slightly more than Vanya’s. Not that Vanya has any particular moral shortcomings, but she’s naïve and far too sweet, easy to control. Five, on the other hand, is so no-nonsense and pragmatic that it’s obnoxious. But that makes him hard to manipulate and harder to double-cross. Luther trusts Allison too, and he’s starting to realize that not trusting her is almost always a bad idea—he certainly regrets not trusting her about Vanya, now that he knows that this is the outcome.

So trusting the Handler it is. Still, he keeps one eye on her as she drives. He’s not an idiot, and the pistol tucked into her belt has not bypassed him. If she takes a hand off the wheel and reaches for it, he doesn’t want to be caught off-guard.

“Relax, Luther.” The Handler’s voice makes Luther jump, and she chuckles. “I can see how tense you are, and I promise I’m not going to touch my weapon. It’s simply protocol that I be armed at all times.”

“Okay,” Luther says. He doesn’t really believe her. He thinks she carries it because she wants to. However, he can’t say that means she has bad intentions because of it, since Diego does basically the same thing, except with his knives. “Are those buildings your headquarters?”

The Handler nods. “They are indeed. Everything the Commission does begins and ends right inside.”

Luther inhales sharply. “You’re with the Commission!? Dammit, I should’ve know I couldn’t trust you.” He remembers the Commission. They’re that company Five mentioned, the ones that did everything they could to ensure the apocalypse would happen, including sending assassins to take out his Luther’s entire family. Any goodwill that Luther had been dredging up for the Handler is gone in an instant, replaced with anger at what she’s done to his and his family’s lives.

Oh no. His family.

“What’ve you done with my siblings?” he demands. “What do you want with us?”

The Handler doesn’t seem concerned by Luther’s words nor by the threat of him attacking her. Her voice is perfectly even when she says, “The Commission may have made some mistakes in regards to your family, but I assure that those errors will not be repeated. Your family has not been harmed tonight. When we arrive at headquarters, I can provide you with proof of their well-being. As for your second question, we simply want your help. Obviously, we couldn’t allow you to return to your past for fear that you would cause more harm to the timeline than you already have. I’ll be honest with you, our first solution _was_ to terminate all of you except for Vanya. But thanks to Five, there’s been a change of plans.”

Luther doesn’t know if he likes the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean,” the Handler says, “is that Five has suggested that rather than kill you all, we should ask for you to sign contracts with us. You would work for us for five years, and then you’d be allowed to retire to where and whenever you’d like. If you ask me, it’s really quite generous of Five to do this for you. He could have seriously jeopardized his position in management by pulling these strings for you.”

Somehow, Luther can’t find it in himself to care about Five’s _position in management_. Not when Five has so readily betrayed them, sold them to the people who tried to kill them, just to save his own ass. Because that’s all this is. It’s Five running the math in his head and deciding that this is how he comes out on top and able to do what he wants, the arrogant prick.

Five’s actions aside, Luther has to come up with a plan. Five may have gotten them into a whole mess, but Luther can get them out. He is the leader, after all. First he has to figure out what exactly they’re dealing with.

Testing the Handler, he says, “Say we agree to this contract deal—what would you require us to do?”

The Handler laughs like he’s simple. “Fix the timeline, obviously. I’m sure Five told you what he did for us.”

Luther’s heart sinks. He’d been afraid she would say that. “You want us to kill people.”

“Oh, Luther, don’t act so upset.” She pats his arm lightly. “It’s not as if you and your family haven’t done it before.”

“That’s different. Those were criminals,” Luther argues. “We’ve never hurt innocents.”

All the Handler does in response is shake her head and say, “You have a lot to learn, my dear Spaceboy. Oh, look, we’re here!”

The Handler pulls up in front of an impressive looking mansion and stops the car. She doesn’t wait for Luther to ask questions, just steps out and saunters over to his side to open the door. She checks her watch impatiently when Luther hesitates. Once he goes in there with her, he’ll be trapped. He should just run away now and try to get everyone else out later.

He’s not convinced it would work, though. If the Commission could find him before, when he’d landed in the wilderness, they’ll definitely be able to give chase and catch him if he flees. There’s no way he’d have enough time to come up with a plan before that happened.

That leaves him with only one option—allow the Commission to think he’s agreed to their conditions and plot under their noses.

He gets out of the car.

As he joins the Handler, he receives a warm smile before she turns and leads him into the building. “I take it this means you’ve decided to join us?” she asks. Casually, like she’s talking about a regular outing with friends.

“Yes,” Luther says. “If that means my family will be safe.”

“Everyone is being given the same choice as you,” the Handler says. “If they take it, we will integrate them into the Commission, just as we are doing for you. If not, we’ll simply keep them in a holding house until we’ve decided what the best course of action is.”

Alarmed, Luther stops in his tracks. “But you wouldn’t hurt them, would you? If they refused to sign your contract?”

“Don’t worry, Luther, Five has expressly forbidden us to kill any of you,” the Handler answers. She turns to beckon him to follow her. “Come on, now. I don’t have all night, and I still have to show you to your new room.”

“I’m living at headquarters?” Luther asks. For some reason, he’d assumed they would put him up in some sort of company house, which is, now that he thinks about it, a weird assumption to make. Of course they want to keep him close—he’s not one of them, and they don’t know if he might turn on them or not. Or maybe everyone lives here, and it’s just protocol. Five never mentioned anything about his living situation while he was with he Commission the first time around.

“We have rooms here for our most valuable agents. That way if we need you—and we often will—you’ll be close and on-call.”

“Oh.” Luther doesn’t know whether or not to take that as a compliment. It was obviously meant to be, but the Handler is not someone he thinks he should be seeking to please. Working for her is a means to an end, the end being the safe escape of his family.

The Handler leads him to a door on the third floor. “This should suit your needs,” she says. She gestures to the handle. “After you.”

Sparing a wary glance in her direction, Luther opens the door. His jaw hits the floor. It’s the most lavish space he’s ever seen. There’s a four-post king sized bed—extra long to accommodate his height—a large wardrobe and chest of drawers, a desk stacked with notebooks and books about space and astrophysics, a full-body mirror in the corner, and a recliner in the corner. There’s also a balcony beyond a sliding glass door and another door standing ajar to reveal what appears to be a bathroom to match the room.

“This is mine?” He gapes at the Handler, who nods with a pleased smile.

“Entirely. Do you like it?”

“I…” Luther swallows. Dad may have been a billionaire with a mansion, but he had not spoiled his children, not even Luther. This is by far the nicest place Luther’s been allowed to sleep in. “Yeah. I do.”

“Excellent,” the Handler says. She checks her watch. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go check in on your siblings. I believe Allison will want to hear of your safe recovery.”

Shit, Allison. He’d nearly forgotten that the Commission got her too. “Wait,” he says. “Can I—can I see her?”

The Handler stares at him for a long moment. Instead of answering, she inclines her head toward the desk. “Your contract is over there,” she says. “I want you to sign it and bring it to my office on the second floor as soon as you can. We can discuss the possibility of you visiting with your family later, but for now, I want you only thinking about your job. Prove yourself to me, and there will be great rewards for you.”

With that said, the Handler gives a dainty wave and exits the room briskly, her skirt swinging in a way that reminds Luther painfully of Grace.

He considers following her and demanding she take him to Allison, to anyone—even Diego would do. But he knows that’s not a smart move and could easily backfire and result in punishment for either him or his family, maybe even both. For now, he has to keep his head down and do what he’s told until the Commission lets their guard down.

He sits heavily at the desk and stares down at the contract. He’s really about to do this. Like it or not, the next five years of his life belong to the Commission, unless he can reach a solution that gets everyone out alive and together.

Well, it can’t be any worse than wasting four years of his life alone on the moon. At least now, he’s absolutely certain that what he’s doing matters. It’s still not easy to pick up the pen and hold it above the neat little line at the bottom of his contract. It still feels like a betrayal, even if he has no other choice.

“I’m sorry, guys,” he whispers, a tear rolling down his cheek.

And he signs on the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What does this mean for the team? Only time (hehe) will tell. Thanks for reading--comment and kudos are all loved and cherished, and you can catch me on tumblr [@lastoftherealblues](http://lastoftherealblues.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
